


HG's Story

by PieHeda



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieHeda/pseuds/PieHeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How strange my story is. I wonder at it still. My first full day out of bronze included a flight on an airplane, a dream come true. It included a return to my old home, lovingly preserved. It also marked the day that I met Myka Bering." <br/>HG describes being released from the Bronze, her plot to infiltrate the Warehouse, and the one person who can interfere with her plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	HG's Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is a deep dive into HG's life in season 2. I started it a long time ago in order to work out how she managed to be the big villain of that season while also being incredibly empathetic. It stops a bit abruptly, because I couldn't figure out how to wrap it up from there. I hope that finally posting it will help me to get the second part written.

It’s hard to explain what that time was like – aware, but unmoving, unseeing, unresting.  Unable to interact, but with a fully active mind. My life was darkness. I sometimes felt that I was in a dark cell with high walls, isolated in the blackness. I would strain for a sensation of light, some sense of light far off at the top of my cell, but no light would come. Nothing was there but my mind, my awareness that even my cell was a construct I designed to try and comfort myself that I was in a place I might escape under my own control.

I shall never forget the day I was freed. Had I given up hope of escape? Did I even want escape anymore? It’s hard to recall. Brightness flooded my dark cell, the brightness I had so desired, but too fast, too much at once. My world had been all black. Now it was all white. Just as blind, more painfully.

And then, I felt.

For the first time in over a century, there was feeling. I felt the floor beneath my feet, the weight of my own body pressing me towards the center of the earth. My limbs were weak. I stumbled and hung against the shackles of the Bronzer.

I heard a woman with an American accent say “quickly. We don’t have much time.”

 I felt hands upon me. My skin was cold from being encased in bronze. I had been unaware of the coldness. I had forgotten I was cold. I don’t know when I forgot how cold it is to be bronzed. The hands were warm on my skin. I fell into those arms, partly from stumbling, but partly from a need to be warmer. They took me in, and held me up. Hair brushed my face. There was a delicate smell of vanilla, cinnamon, and flowers. Perfume. Or maybe just baking and gardening, the most domestic of scents. I could feel that the one holding me was a woman, I assumed the one that had spoken. I could feel it in her softness and her curves. She eased me to a seat.

“I’m going to put this over you,” she said, to avoid startling me, but there was a distance to her voice, a stiffness. Of course, I had no way of knowing then that Leena was under MacPherson’s control. I had no ability to speak yet, no sense of when or where I was. But even then, I sensed that. For the moment, I could only be glad of her kindness.

The blanket was placed over my head, and the light became less intense. I was urged to move, my feet becoming more sure under me – I marveled that I could already feel myself beginning to recover. I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. I was guided through a door, and I could tell that I was outside – more blinding light, and the heat was intense. I heard another voice, a British man, say “come on old friend. We’ve got a great deal to catch up on. Welcome to the future! Let’s change it, shall we?”

The future. But who was this man? Surely I’d been at the Warehouse all this time. Were the American woman and the British man fellow agents? I didn’t recognize his voice, and I was quite unwilling to trust an unfamiliar person who would refer to me as “old friend.”

I was helped into a seat and heard noises and felt sensations that were completely foreign. I wondered how far into the future I had traveled. My imprisonment felt endlessly long. I could feel movement, I felt sure that I was in some kind of mechanical vehicle, but had only imagination and wonder to fill in the blanks.

“There’s a bottle of water in a console just next to your left hand,” said MacPherson. “As you feel up to it, you may have a drink. The faster we get you functioning, the better.”

I felt to the left, and my hand found the cool glass bottle. Looking back, it was clever of MacPherson to go to the trouble of getting me a glass bottle of water – plastic would have felt alien to me. For the first time, I tested my hand coordination, and found that I was able to raise the bottle, and navigate it under the blanket to have a sip. It tasted clean and cold. I kept it in my hand, taking small sips, and noted that the brightness that crept under the blanket was beginning to slowly form into shapes as light and dark began to differentiate in my eyes. I raised my right hand and rubbed my face. There was a thin residue of oil upon my skin. I ran my hand through my hair, which felt grimy and slick. _It must be part of the bronzing process_ , I thought. I took another sip and cleared my throat, testing my voice.

“Ah, trying to speak already?” said MacPherson. “I expected rapid progress from you.”

“I should,” I paused, clearing my throat. Even a small amount of speech awakened my vocal system. The same oil was in my nostrils, I could smell its mechanical smell and taste it in my throat. I swallowed hard and continued, “I should like to take a bath.”

MacPherson chuckled. “Yes, I imagine you would. Soon my dear, very soon.”

I took another sip of water. “Who are you? Are you an agent of Warehouse 12?”

“I’m MacPherson. And 13,” he said. “The Warehouse has been moved since your day.”

“Then I must be in America,” I said.

* * *

 

MacPherson started up some music – I marveled again, wondering what sort of contraption permitted him to simply produce music in a motorized vehicle. Strauss it was, _Also sprach Zarathustra_. No doubt selected to comfort me with familiar sounds. I was mostly pleased that the music played quietly, as my ears, which had been deaf for quite some time now, would not have welcomed the fanfare at full volume. We rode in silence for a bit, and my vision slowly returned enough that I raised the blanket to have a look about. The brightness was still painful, but I could see. We were in a motor vehicle, as I had deduced. We were on a road with other vehicles, and we were moving at an alarming rate.

“Would you care to have a look around? There are some glasses you can put on, here. They will shade your eyes.” I put on the sunglasses that he offered me and that did the trick. I was truly able to take in my surroundings now – particularly the strange, smooth interior of this vehicle. I touched the dashboard to feel the odd material it was made from.

“The automobile has changed a bit in my absence,” I said.

He only laughed in response.

“What year is it, then?”

“2010.”

  1. To think. And there I was, a traveler on the edge of time, gazing into a future that was far more rapid than the world I had left.



“How fast are we traveling?” I asked.

He gestured to a dial behind the wheel. “This is our speed, in miles per hour. Currently 76.”

I smiled. “Delightful.”

* * *

 

We drove on for over an hour more, mostly in silence. I asked questions about puzzling things I saw, and MacPherson answered. So began my education in the modern world. Mostly I learned the rules of the road, as it was clear that learning to drive in this world would be absolutely necessary.

Eventually we pulled off of the main highway and into a hotel. “You’ll be able to bathe here,” he said, “and then we can get something to eat, and discuss some plans I have.” He suggested that I stay in the car while he got a room, and shortly he returned and we drove around to the other side of the hotel to our room – a shared room, I was not surprised to learn, because of course men haven’t changed at all in a hundred years.

The room was drab, but certainly nicer than a boarding hall. “The bath is in here,” he said, “and I’ve brought along some clothes for you that are more current.”

“A private bath,” I said, “that’s unexpected in such a plain setting. Rather a smaller tub than I would like,” I added, after taking in the facilities.

“Private baths are common these days,” he said. “And most tubs are this size. I recommend that you use the shower instead.” I looked at the tub and then back to him, puzzled. He walked past me and showed me how to work the shower. I removed my jacket and vest – I was so glad to be rid of them. “Perhaps it’s time you explained to me why you’ve had me debronzed.” He stared unabashedly as I loosened the buttons of my blouse, revealing much about what kind of a man he was. I paused, my fingers holding my blouse together over my breast, and raised my eyebrows at him. He shrugged mildly and stepped outside of the door, one shoulder visible against the door frame.

“I released you because there is something I need from you. Something which, I believe, will benefit us both.” I stripped off the remainder of my clothing, and stepped eagerly into the warm stream of water, and bathed luxuriously with cheap hotel soap and shampoo.

* * *

 

The remainder of our time together was spent teaching me some essential things. He taught me to drive his car. I’d driven an automobile in my own time, and so it really wasn’t that difficult – they have become easier to drive, at least once I got used to the instrument panel. He explained to me about airplanes, and that I would need to board one to return to my home and acquire the Imperceptor Vest. He showed me his computer, although I think he was just showing off a bit, like waving something shiny over an infant’s crib. He made no move to teach me to use the device, and seemed to want only to see my reaction to a modern wonder. I feigned astonishment, but several clues had already indicated to me that the age of the analytical engine had arrived. Apparently, he believed I’d never heard of Ada Lovelace. He underestimated me at every turn, and gave me every tool to play him at his own game.

Nighttime fell. The room he had acquired for us had one bed only. He invited me into the bed, and I found myself silently grateful for the lessons of the Victorian age – that men are so very easy, so transparent. That a woman can easily fool a man by simply not challenging his belief that he is desirable. I played demure but curious. This was clearly within his expectations. I allowed him to kiss me, braving his heavy cologne. I eventually removed my trousers and slid into bed wearing my blouse and undergarments (because predictably, although he had acquired for me a full wardrobe, he did not purchase a nightgown). I tolerated his groping hands for a while, the indignity of his tongue in my mouth. When his touch became more urgent, I ceased him by claiming to be tired. I noted that I had a busy day ahead, and that we should save ourselves to celebrate our first triumph together. I would, I assured him, be back in his arms soon enough. He accepted this, to my relief. I did not wish for my first sexual experience in over a century to be with him.

I turned over and allowed him to hold me while we slept. I was indeed tired. It had been a taxing day. Tomorrow would be more exhausting still. I would see my home again. I would begin to reclaim what is mine.

* * *

 

How strange my story is. I wonder at it still. My first full day out of bronze included a flight on an airplane, a dream come true. It included a return to my old home, lovingly preserved. It also marked the day that I met Myka Bering.

When I first glimpsed Myka and Pete in the hall, it was clear who my target should be. Pete made such an easy mark. As I glanced into the tall agent Bering’s eyes, I felt sympathy more than anything. Poor dear. So little has changed.

A short while later, I felt no surprise that it should be a woman who would first get the better of me. It was not my first time at gunpoint, but my first time to be held at gunpoint by a woman. She figured me out where Pete had not. She did not underestimate the danger I posed. _Oh yes_ , I thought. _I like this one._ I was so impressed by the way she conducted herself, by the authority she commanded. Perhaps there was a bit of ego in my attraction as well. She was clearly a bit overwhelmed by meeting me. I’ve always found most attractive the women who are attracted to me. While she satisfied the desires of my ego, I liked that she fought it, that her focus was on her mission. I felt a pinch of disappointment in our circumstances. Too bad we were on opposing sides.

As she cuffed me, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to stroke her hand. I wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of her. She let it pass without comment, without even a look. It was a bit cheeky of me, I confess. But she was the prettiest woman I’d seen since I left the bronze, and nothing ventured, nothing gained. Of course, I got the better of her rapidly. She and Pete were thrown by the revelation that I was conscious while bronzed. It distracted them, lowered their defenses. It gave me what I needed to get away from them. I found, however, that I regretted leaving the company of Myka Bering. I regretted, in a way, having bested her. I needed the Imperceptor Vest, and needed my belongings. I had no time to dawdle. MacPherson made it clear that we needed to time this just right. I needed to catch a flight. If all was going according to plan at Cern and he avoided capture – and if there was one thing that MacPherson had proven to me without a doubt, it was that he was capable of staying one step ahead of Arthur – then I needed to get on my flight and get back to Warehouse 13 in advance of Pete and Myka.

As I took the cab to Heathrow, I found myself distracted by thoughts of Myka Bering. Up until then, my thoughts had been singularly occupied with my mission: my locket, my ring. The compact – not mine, but a handy weapon. My hope that it was in the vault as promised. My plan to dispose of MacPherson. Now I was distracted by dark hair, and green eyes, and lips. A longing pulsed inside of me. Such a lovely woman. Such a smart woman. I’d forgotten desire while bronzed. I can’t remember how soon it left me. Rapidly, I think. I had taken feelings into account when making my plans. I had pushed out compassion, empathy. I hadn’t counted on lust.

I worried at the surfacing of feelings I couldn’t control. I worried about my worrying, because I’d been sure of myself, in control. One unexpected emotion was opening the door to others. I had to control this. On the flight back, I promised myself to return to a routine of practicing Kenpo after dispatching MacPherson. The great amount of physical control it gave me always instilled me with a sense of psychological control as well. She was just a pretty thing. Just a woman. I could manage my thoughts. I always had.

* * *

 

Though our time together had been brief, killing MacPherson was satisfying. It was good to be done with his arrogant ravings. I headed out of the Warehouse and returned to the hotel he’d established as our base. It contained his computer, and I’d paid enough attention to know that this gave me access to his accounts. I’d be able to take care of myself. I felt triumphant for killing him in Myka’s presence, coldly and efficiently, and leaving without waiting for her reaction.

I felt sure that I was my old self again.

* * *

 

It didn’t take long, living in that hotel and obtaining food from local diners and restaurants, to learn that MacPherson’s funds were not going to be enough to complete my plans. I emptied his accounts shortly after killing him, in order to get at his accounts before the Regents had a chance. They had already dwindled down to half of what I’d started with, and I was not yet done educating myself on computers and the modern banking system. Furthermore, although MacPherson clearly had his ways of hacking into the Warehouse, I had not yet learned enough to do it myself. I was learning a great deal about hacking from the internet, and the main thing I’d learned was that the easiest path to access was to simply have it given to me. That’s when I made my plan to be reinstated. It would give me the access I needed, as well as a better place to stay for a while, and an income. Enough to sustain me through to the ends of my plan, after which I cared little for what became of me. I began researching what I could of the Warehouse agents, from MacPherson’s files on his computer and from what public information I could find about them. And I started looking for curiosities that I might follow up on, in the hopes of meeting up with other agents again.

And in this way, while investigating a very promising case about a wrestling team’s sudden success coinciding with a very unusual death of one of the team members, I found myself at the end of Myka’s gun again. And in the grip of her strong hand as well.

I was not prepared for the full extent of her wrath that day. I’d expected her to be distrustful, but the violence with which she seized me bordered on uncontrolled. Claudia had to appeal to her to release me. Again, Myka introduced elements I hadn’t counted on. She felt so much loyalty to the Warehouse. I felt a stirring in my chest. I’d once felt that way as well. I pushed the feeling down. No sentiment, no nostalgia. Those days were long gone.

I was grateful for the presence of Claudia. Without her appealing my case, I might have found it necessary to resort to force in order to escape, and I did not wish to harm Myka. I had noted Claudia when leaving the Warehouse before, and learned a bit about her in my research, and that she was not an agent. Considering this, I was impressed that she was out on a case with Myka. I’d been the only woman in Warehouse 12. Claudia did not know how fortunate she was to be surrounded by women in what used to be a man’s occupation. It didn’t hurt that she had a youthful naivety that I wouldn’t have gotten from Pete. She wanted to give me a chance. This gave me the in that I needed.

In addition to her trust in Claudia, I think it may have been Myka’s admiration of my writing that made her release me and hear me out. I found myself showing off, even flirting a bit. I couldn’t seem to help myself in her presence. I wanted her admiration. _How strange_ , I marveled at myself, even while teasing her about wanting to trust me. Again and again, she succeeded in putting me off my guard. I searched her face for confirmation that she did indeed want to trust me. She looked doubtful and troubled, and I knew that this was self-doubt. She _did_ want to trust me. I was elated. I was surprised at my own elation. I pushed my advantage even further by slipping away from her to distract the coach so that she and Claudia could make an escape. It bothered her. I understood – back in my Warehouse days, it would have bothered me, if I were in her position. But she let me go.

* * *

 

The incident with the grappling gun was a stroke of pure luck.

I was doing a poor job of winning Myka over without Claudia there to take my side. She didn’t care for my talk about how women have a harder time of things. There was still a double-standard for women in this world that I found disappointing, but Myka clearly believed that her hard work had earned her everything she had accomplished, and wasn’t interested in hearing anything to the contrary. She seemed solidly against my plan to be reinstated. I was floundering. I was flustered at how much I wanted her approval. Yes, I needed an agent on my side in order to get back in, but I wanted her approval for far more personal reasons.

So the vehicle that nearly ran us down turned out rather to my advantage. Just as well – the physical sometimes speaks so much more.

I could feel Myka lose her breath as I whisked her into the air. I could feel her rapid breathing as we slowly descended. She breathed upon my skin and my hair. My body responded with immediate arousal. I laughed, partly from the excitement of using my grappling gun again for the first time in so long, and partly from the joy of far more familiar territory. I was always able to face the worst of situations with a plan, and in that way regain my sense of control. That Myka was able to so easily lodge a wrench into my plans confused me. That she was able to make my body react to holding her – _finally_ holding her, I corrected, realizing that I had wanted this since our first encounter – was not surprising in the least. She was warm in my arms, most likely flushed from our sudden flight, but I hoped that some part of her was also excited at being held by me.

As we returned to earth, I knew I’d gotten closer to her. Saving her life, obviously, didn’t hurt. She was reluctant to admit that she was impressed by my grappling gun – which of course meant that she was very impressed by it. I feigned annoyance. She reluctantly conceded that I’d taken her off guard. This had worked where my words had failed. I could see her face flush as she held my gaze. Yes, the physical sometimes speaks so very much more.

The rest of the case played to my advantage wonderfully. Myka began treating me like a partner. I knew about Godfrid’s Spoon, but more importantly to Myka, I was able to save Claudia. While working on the antidote for Claudia, I decided that after confirming that it saved her life, I would leave. Playing hard to get, I was certain, had not changed over the years.

* * *

 

I must confess that when we met next, it was because my heart genuinely went out to Myka. When I saw the news of the Secret Service director that had died, I knew from my research that he’d been Pete and Myka’s former boss, and I knew that Myka would go to his funeral. I also knew right away that Torquemada’s Chain was involved. It was obvious from the nature of his death.

Approaching Myka at the funeral was a risk. I wasn’t sure it would help my case, but I wanted to be there for her in her grief. Before I knew it, I was telling her why I was bronzed. I gave in – I didn’t want to deceive her. I didn’t want to hide from her. I felt that the only way I could keep my plan secret was to reveal to her my Warehouse history, as difficult and as shameful as that was. I might have revealed my plan, if she had known to ask. I might have given it all up then and there. Seeing Myka grieving left me defenseless. Despite her sadness, she wanted to make this right. She would ease her pain through solving this crime.

I saw myself in her, now more than ever. I wanted only to be there for her. I slipped her the tracking device so that I could assist with the case. I still wanted to be reinstated, but I cared more about solving this case for the sake of Myka.

* * *

 

How that case reminded me of the perils of being a Warehouse agent! I’m not sure it entered my mind that I would die. The onset of hypothermia from the Titanic artifact reminded me of the coldness of being bronzed. That was bad. And then it got worse, of course, and my extremities ached with the pain of freezing. I was surprised at Arthur’s care for me.

But then, I was also reminded that the Warehouse seeks agents whose talents complement nicely. I wasn’t thinking about my plot to be reinstated. I was merely engaged in the case, looking for what I could contribute and what I could make of the contributions of others. Arthur, perhaps, was merely fulfilling his duties to the Warehouse – taking care that people weren’t harmed unnecessarily by artifacts.

The end result of losing sight of my goal in the case was, ironically, that I achieved my goal. And Arthur’s benevolence ended at this revelation. I wasn’t troubled by that. It was clear that the others did not feel the way Artie did, and that Myka in particular felt that he was overreacting. I acted bothered by it, however, in order to disguise my plan. After Artie stormed off and Myka followed after him, I went out to the balcony outside of the office, overlooking the Warehouse, to pretend at being hurt by his reaction. I stared out over Warehouse 13, having time to take it all in for the first time ever. I found myself comparing it to Warehouse 12, of course, but all the while making certain to look properly glum. I heard Myka’s footsteps – distinct to her shoes – and sighed heavily just as she approached.

“Artie is just sort of… like that.” She sighed too. I forced myself to continue staring out over the Warehouse, though I could feel her gaze upon me and see from the corner of my eye that she was very close to me.

“I shouldn’t let it bother me.” I shook my head. “With everything that has happened,” I paused, and gestured over the Warehouse vaguely. “You’ve just lost someone dear to you.” I turned now and met her eyes, and saw that my misdirection had worked – she thought I was about to say I was just happy to be reinstated. She was surprised that I was thinking of her instead. I was pleased at her reaction to this surprise. “It would be selfish to expect _you_ to comfort _me_ at this time.” I reached up and brushed her hair from her face. “Darling, are you alright? This must have been an especially difficult case for you.”

Her eyes shone with tears. She seized my hand, and squeezed it tightly. “I am.” She looked away and shrugged. “Well, I will be. He was a good director. I liked working for him. He liked me, too.” She still had hold of my hand, and now she took it in both of her hands. She glanced into the office, and I followed her eyes. Claudia and Pete were staring right at us. As we looked at them, they both attempted to look nonchalant; Claudia actually began whistling and strolling around the office without aim. I smiled and returned my gaze to Myka. “Would you like to go with me into the Warehouse?” she said. “I can show you around, and we can get a bit of inventory done.”

I risked a teasing smile, but kept my tone gentle. “Right back to work, eh? All business then, Agent Bering?”

She looked off to the side, considering her reaction to my teasing, and then smiled back at me. “Yes. But it would also be nice to talk. Especially to someone who kind of knows the feeling.”

In the stacks, we ended up just strolling as Myka gave me a tour of the Warehouse, while talking about working for the Secret Service under her director. She described how she’d come to work for the Warehouse, and how her director had been concerned for her and Pete. She clearly felt affectionate about his involvement, as pesky as it had been. The subject then turned to how she eventually learned to get along with Pete and now cared about him very much as a partner. She described Claudia’s introduction to the Warehouse. As she caught me up on the histories of the various Warehouse agents, she forgot to guide the tour that we were taking, and we ended up merely wandering through the aisles, more or less. And then we reached shelves that I recognized.

I couldn’t help but stare. Here were many of my inventions. Here was a giant crate – my time machine! Here were all the things in the world that were familiar to me. Myka stopped talking and let me take it all in. My eyes scanned the shelves and then landed on a box, with a beautiful print of a woman on it. My eyes darted to Myka. She smiled at me and nodded towards the box. I opened it to find my grappling gun.

“So you did keep it,” I said, smiling as I lifted it from the box.

“In the safest place I knew,” she said, smiling back.

“I suppose I should take it back. Now that I’m an agent again, it may come in handy. Such a lovely box you’ve placed it in, though. I’m surprised you found its original case.  It seems a bit decorative for mere artifact storage.”

She turned her eyes to the floor, smiling. “It seemed perfect for your grappling gun.”

I placed the gun back in the box and shut the lid, and ran my fingers over the design. “Sort of a pretty thing for a grappling gun.”

“Well, it made me think of you.” She blushed, realizing how that sounded. Her hands became nervous, and she raised a hand to the box, just to give the hand something to do.

“Funny you should say that,” I said, taking her hand from the box into both of my hands. “It makes _me_ think of _you_.” I stroked her hand with my thumb, and stared into her eyes. She was breathing more heavily. I leaned towards her, cautiously, watching her eyes for a reaction. As my face neared hers, her eyes fixed on my lips, expectantly. I raised one hand to hold her jaw delicately in my hand, glanced once more at her eyes, and smiled. And then we kissed.

It was a sweet kiss, at the beginning. Delicate. Each of us hesitant. After a moment she parted from my lips, and I traced the line of her jaw to the back of her neck, and buried my hand in her hair. She searched my face, and I realized that now I was the one breathing heavily. I wanted her lips again. I felt years of longing building up inside of me. How long since I had been with a woman? Over a century.

I released her hand and placed my hand upon her waist, and pulled her into a kiss again – this time a deeper, hungrier kiss. Our lips parted simultaneously, as if we could read each other’s thoughts, and our tongues greeted eagerly. My hand on her hips slid up her ribs and halted under her breast. Her hand darted to mine, holding it firmly for just a moment before moving it up to her breast. She released my hand and I cupped her breast, my fingers spread broadly, feeling about for her nipple. Finding it, I stroked it with my thumb. She raised a hand to my breast and copied this action.

We kissed like this for a long while. I delighted in the fullness of her lips, the taste of her, and the way that she relented to me; for my longing was undisguised, and I pressed her to me with great hunger. I could not get close enough. She understood. She seemed to find comfort in my need.

I’d begun to wonder how to move forward. Would we simply sprawl out on the Warehouse floor? I pressed her against the crate housing my time machine, my hips pressing insistently into hers. I seized the collar of her shirt, fighting my urge to loosen the buttons. Just as I was in danger of breaking my own resolve, she pushed gently against me. I broke our deep kiss, but kissed her twice more before pulling away.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, panting. Her cheeks were flush, her eyes dilated; her eyes had turned a deeper shade of green. She was so beautiful. I kissed her forehead, her warm cheeks. In that last kiss, she nuzzled my cheek, releasing a small hum of pleasure. I buried my face into her neck and simply breathed, inhaling that clean smell hers. She kissed the top of my head.

“Come to my room tonight,” she said, finally.

“When?”

“After dinner. When I go to bed. I always read for a while in the living room at the B&B after dinner.” She bobbed her head and smiled with a hint of embarrassment. “Actually, I always read until 10 precisely. We’ll have to wait until after that. Everyone will notice if I don’t. Claudia actually teases me about how predictable I am.”

“And if they notice?” I said, raising my head to meet her eyes. “Would that be a problem? Really, I’d have thought by now…”

“I’m not ready to talk to the others about this.” Her eyes became serious. “It’s not about how acceptable two women as lovers are these days, compared to your time. It’s about me and Pete just losing our old director, and this tension between you and Artie. I’m on your side because you’re a good agent, and an asset to the Warehouse. But what _hasn’t_ changed is that sex complicates things. I don’t want everyone thinking that the only reason I’m on your side is because you’re in my bed.”

I was impressed with Myka’s frankness. It always seemed to surprise me, and also delight me. “Righty-ho, then.” I reluctantly released my embrace. “Until then, I’d like to finish our tour.”

“Maybe you should take over the tour now, and tell me about the HG section?” she said, gesturing to the shelves.

“I would love to, but first you must tell me one thing – what makes you think you’re taking me to your bed? I rather think it is I who will be bedding you.”

She grinned. “Oh no. I’m bedding you, lady. Got you wrapped around my finger.”

Indeed she did. Myka continued to know me better than I knew myself in this regard.

* * *

 

After dinner I asked Myka if she could loan me a book. She said she had been hoping I would ask, and gave me a book of short stories. “You’ve got some catching up to do. I love that I get to introduce you to Ray Bradbury.”

We read side by side on the sofa. I enjoyed the stories a great deal, but found myself observing my fellow residents and agents as well. It seemed that Myka wasn’t the only one with a predictable schedule. Artie had dessert and then returned to the Warehouse, taking an extra plate of cookies with him. Leena put away the dinner dishes and then went out to walk around the garden. Claudia and Pete exchanged taunts and settled in to play a video game, sitting on the floor a few feet in front of us.

“Sorry about the noise,” Myka said, noticing me distracted by their game. “I guess I’m used to it.”

I smiled. “I assure you, it’s no louder than I was accustomed to in London.” She smiled at me and returned to her book, but I continued to stare. Violence had become a game in this time. Fake people designed for no reason other than to be killed again and again. Pete and Claudia were clearly so accustomed to it that they didn’t give it any consideration. My mood grew dark at the sight of it. Eventually I rose. “I suppose it is a bit distracting, after all,” I said. “I’ll just be in my room.”

I went upstairs to read in silence, away from modern violence entertainment. I enjoyed the stories, but remained aware of the time. At 10 o’clock I set the book down. I didn’t know which room was Myka’s. I didn’t know if she knew which room was mine. At 10:05 I was about to leave my room to look for her, when I heard a noise behind me. My bathroom door was open, and Myka stood there wearing a white tank top and baby blue cotton panties. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side, and gave me a cocky smile. “Hey. Are you coming?”

I stood and walked towards her, following her through the bathroom, through the open door on the other side, and into what was clearly her bedroom. “So Leena gave us adjoining rooms? Cheeky girl. There’s more to her than meets the eye.”

“You can say that again,” said Myka. “Would you mind closing the bathroom door?”

I did, and then turned. Myka stood near me, still smiling. I rapidly closed the space between us. I kissed her urgently, sliding my hands up the back of her tank top. When I pulled away to lift the tank top over her head, Myka laughed. “There’s no need to rush.”

I dropped her top to the floor and looked into her eyes, placing my hands on her bare waist. “Myka, go to the bed.” She stared at me, eyes narrowed, trying to read me. I gripped her hips in my hands, lust turning to desperation. It must have showed on my face. Her eyes softened, and became sympathetic. “OK, Helena.”

She stepped backwards to the bed, crossing the room rapidly with her long legs. I pursued her, and when we reached her bed I pressed her against it, kissing her again. This time she matched my urgency. Her hands flew to my collar and unbuttoned my shirt. I dipped my hand into her panties, and slid my fingers between her labia. She gasped as my fingers stroked her. I removed my fingers and pulled her panties down past her thighs, nuzzling her breasts as I slid down and back up her body. I rose to kiss her. My tongue stroked Myka’s and my hands worked her breasts, teasing and rolling her nipples between my fingers until they were erect. She fumbled with my belt and unzipped my trousers. They dropped to the floor. I stepped out of them, and pressed against Myka more fiercely. “Get on the bed.”

She sat on the bed, and I grabbed her by her upper thighs, lifting to drop her on her back. She gasped. I climbed on top of the bed, braced on my hands and knees, over her body. “Move up”. Myka crawled backwards up the bed towards the pillows. I followed along with her, over her body, smiling hungrily at her. She kept her eyes locked on mine. When she was fully on the bed she dropped to the pillows, and almost in the same motion I thrust my hips into hers. I kissed and bit at her neck, being rough but careful at least to not leave a mark, and thrust again; it was almost involuntary. Her hips rose against mine and she released a small cry of delight. I felt it vibrate in my mouth through her throat.

I moved rapidly down her body, mapping my progress with kisses and bites to her collar bone, her breasts, her ribs, her belly. Soon I was between her legs, shrugging her thighs apart with my shoulders. She gasped as I stroked her from her opening to her cleft, parting her labia with my tongue. Her hips rose spasmodically. I stroked her again rapidly, and she cried out “Oh!” She sounded frantic and overwhelmed. I had proceeded rapidly, when it was normally my way to take my time. But I felt a tremendous need in the moment, a great desire and it hastened my actions.

I stroked her again, in the same way but more firmly. “Oh, Helena,” she whispered this time, and her hand was in my hair, pressing gently to signal her encouragement. I stroked again, and again. Her hips sunk to the mattress, rocking gently against me. I explored her body eagerly with my right hand, stroking her ribs and her breasts.

My tongue sought out the motions that got a reaction. Myka signaled her delight vocally, and by tightening her grip on my hair. She rose to climax quickly, and her hips bucked again, involuntarily. I slid both arms under her legs and curled my hands around her hips to hold her torso firmly, and rode the waves of her orgasm, stroking her again, more insistently. Her voice came in long, low moans at first. As the sensation ebbed, her cries became more urgent. I tightened my grip on her hips. “Helena, please,” she gasped in desperation. I raised my head to look at her, waiting for her to meet my eyes. “I’m done,” she breathed, looking at me with a hint of desperation. “I’m not,” I said, and lowered my mouth to stroke her more intensely.

Her voice came in high, short, muffled cries now. I was sure she’d put a pillow over her mouth. Her hips bucked wildly, and I held on tight. Suddenly the convulsions came to an end, her pelvis sunk low, and her voice registered the change in sensation. And then her hips rolled with a second climax, with a less violent response this time. I did not release my grip, but changed position to focus on her clit, swirling and circling it with my tongue. The waves of her body calmed as the sensation ebbed, and then rolled again as it flowed into yet another climax. I changed my focus again, and again the tides of her orgasm ebbed and flowed. And again, until she came in long, slow waves, her voice low and calm, stroking my hair again, lovingly, calling my name. I stroked out the sensation of her final crisis and then released my grip on her, and placed a final kiss on her. I then folded my arms over her vulva and rested my chin on my wrists, watching her body twitch with aftershocks.

She raised up on her shoulders to look at me, and grinned. “Don’t just sit there looking smug. Come here!” I slid into her arms. She positioned me so that I was on top of her, and spread my unbuttoned shirt so that we lay skin against skin. Her body was cooling rapidly, mine was still warm. She kissed me languorously.

I felt relief, lying in her arms. The tension I felt around Myka was gone. I closed my eyes and succumbed to her kisses. She was just a woman, after all. Smart, strong, self-assured, beautiful – but a woman, not a mysterious force. My mind was clear. I was in the Warehouse, I could continue with my plans.

I rolled off of Myka, thinking I would dress and return to my room. I was beginning to get cold, and tired. She surprised me by using my momentum to roll on top of me. She kissed me, with more hunger than before. She lifted up suddenly, straddling my waist. “Sit up,” she said, gesturing _up_ with both hands. I complied. She pushed my shirt off of my arms and tossed it to the floor, and leaned in to kiss my neck while fumbling with my bra clasp with one hand. I rolled my head to the side to give her more access. “You know, this really isn’t necessary darling,” I said. “I’m perfectly satisfied.”

She drew back to look me in the eyes. “Really, Helena? And who says I’m satisfied, huh?”

I smiled in spite of myself. “I see. I forgot my place. I’m the agent working under you, yes?”

Her face was scrunched in concentration, staring off into the middle distance as if she were doing calculus in her head. She looked thoroughly distracted, but answered “that’s right. Does whatever I say.” The clasp of my bra unlatched, and Myka’s face brightened. “Ha! One hand!” I laughed. “Bravo, darling!” She grinned triumphantly, and moved to slide my panties off.

Now that I was fully stripped, Myka pressed me back to the bed and stretched out on top of me. She kissed me again, deeply. She moved to put her legs between mine, and began to grind her hips into me. Having brought her to climax, I did feel satiated, or at least I had – but now my body responded on its own, rising to press back against her. My legs opened to grant her access,and  I felt a strong urge to wrap my legs around her waist. Myka moved down my body, kissing my neck, my chest, lingering now on my breasts. She moved from one to the other, licking and sucking, but also stroking and lightly pinching my nipples in her hands in the absence of her mouth, as if she couldn’t get enough. “You’re very eager,” I said, teasingly. Without looking at me – indeed, without abandoning her task – she replied “I know it’s been a very long time for you. It doesn’t begin to compare, but it’s been a while for me too.” There was a hint of sadness to her voice. Just a hint. I felt my heart flood with emotion. My hands moved to her hair instinctively, stroking and petting as if soothing a hurt cat. My life was so different from Myka’s, and yet at times we seemed so similar. I pulled her up to kiss her, a deep intense kiss. She paused and looked into my eyes, her own eyes carrying a distant sadness, but also something else I didn’t quite understand. It made her seem strong. It made me want to surrender to her, as if doing so would fix all the pain inside of me. Under Myka’s gaze I felt as a flower must, striving for the sun.

Her face changed, and a hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. She kissed me once more, and then slid down between my legs, and stroked me with her tongue. I gasped at the suddenness of it. She slid a finger into me while circling my clit with her tongue, and then another. I endeavored to press down further onto her hand, she responded by pressing deeper into me. My voice rose at the sensation, and again she responded, hard and fast, raising up and arching her neck so that she did not break contact with my clit. I raised my head to take in the sight of her. Her long curls obscured her face and spread across my lower torso. She was braced on one shoulder for leverage, and I could see the muscles of her back contract in time with the rhythm she had set up inside of me. Her mouth moved tirelessly on me as well, and presently she sucked my clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it as she did. I let my head fall back on the pillow, and now just as Myka had before, I was stifling my own cries.

I reached my crisis, my hips rolling and bucking under her touch. She slid her fingers gently out of me and stroked me more insistently with her tongue, and then as I had done before she wrapped her arms around me and refused to let go until I was fully spent. I climaxed twice more, the last coming in a flood of sensation that felt as if it might never end, as she stroked every ounce of it out of me.

“Hold me,” I said, my body cooling so rapidly once I was finished that I began to shiver. We moved to get under the covers. My teeth chattered, and I whispered “hold me, oh, hold me,” until we were both under covers, and even once I was in her arms. Once I began to warm I kissed her, delighting in the smell and taste of myself on her mouth. We kissed sleepily, as my head grew heavy and tired. _Just a bit longer, just until I am fully warm, and I’ll return to my bed_ , I thought. The last thing I remembered was her moving to rest my head on her arm, and her fingers running through my hair.

* * *

 

When I awoke, I was very aware of Myka’s arm across my body. In my sleep I had turned to face away from her, but my back was pressed against her. Her arm was draped across my ribs and her palm rested on my breast. Either I or she must have moved just before I awoke, because my nipple was erect against her hand. Perhaps the sensation of it woke me up.

I held her hand, pressing it to my breast, but she didn’t respond. I was hoping she was awake, and that we might reprise last night’s performance. Ah well. It could wait for another time. Perhaps only until tonight, I thought, as I walked into our adjoining bathroom to shower.

While showering I found myself replaying the previous night in my head. I had to force my attention back to my plans, back to plotting my next steps. Myka continued to be a distraction, but surely a distraction I could manage.

My goal was set. I didn’t mind taking my enjoyment with Myka as I strove for my goal, but I was fixed on what needed to be done. I would not be stopped.

 


End file.
